We’ve hit 90 but keep those pedals turning
Ayr Roads/ Harry Fairbairn Cycling Club celebrates its 90th anniversary later this year with many miles and memories racked up.
And club stalwart Arnie Thomson is working tirelessly to bring the club history up- to- date.
Through his research to date, he has uncovered some unpublished articles from ‘ The Highwayman’ Davie Bell.
For more than 30 years Davie wrote a cycling column for this newspaper and garnered a huge following.
Davie and Tom McKean were founding members of Ayr Roads Cycling Club and ten years before Tom had founded Ayr Health & Strength Club.
Davie worked alongside Peter Blane at the Ayrshire Post and Peter’s daughter, Eunice, has provided a collection of unpublished articles.
As a tribute to both men the following piece was taken from the collection.
Two ‘ Highwayman’ books have already been published down the years – could there now be a third on the way?
75,000 Miles Awheel ( April 5th , 1935)
It so happened one day lately, whilst calculating the possibility of creating a mileage record that would surpass my personal best of 1933, by balancing present monthly figures against those of that former year, that a sudden whim came over me to realise the grand total of all my wanderings.
The discovery which soon followed after the perusal of an old diary or two, aided with a scrapbook, revealed that I had in the past eight years pedalled over 75,000 miles.
The number of pedal revolutions I did not dare count.
The mileage, however, would have taken me around the world, by way of Europe, Asia and America twice over. I began in those far- off days with a paltry total of 2,500 for my opening year, counting only miles accumulated on pleasure runs.
In these days of the early Health and Strength Club in Ayr, ( from whom eventually sprung the Ayr Road Club) I came under the influence of a certain Big Fellow who brought me up in real open- air faith.
I was broken in by him on a Stirling to Ayr and back trip, via Glasgow, and returning by the same route.
My heart was nearly broken that day for I bestrode a machine that nowadays would be referred to as a “Fire- escape”.
Never the less, I presented myself again the following week for another bout, and was served with the direct run by Straiton to New Stewart and home by Barrhill.
Well do I remember this run, for I had never previously dreamed road surfaces could be so awful, and a countryside so wild. ( This road is not much better yet).
Now that was all my cycling experience when Ayr’s race holidays came along and again I was taken by the hand and this time for four whole days and into the Central Highlands.
These blessed days throughout which we averaged a modest 60 with camp kit aboard introduced me to the touring game, and it was a trip I never forgot.
Our route ( which, it may be recalled has already been described in these columns long ago) took us into Edinburgh the first day and then away through Fife and Kinross to beyond Dunkeld, to see Loch Tay in rain and mist, to Killin, Callander and home, four days of never forgotten happiness.
There were four of us then ( although there be eight and more now) and we began the game of week- ending as we thought we had exhausted local possibilities.
By recommendat i o n , Creetown and Crockett’s Tea Rooms became a home from home and many a weekend we spent there that led us home by devious ways, by way of New Galloway and Thornhill, by way of Wigtown and Stranraer, varied by an occasional trip over Shalloch summit to Straiton if we visited Trool. Glasgow too, saw us once a month as we regularly pedalled to weight- lifting contests in which we competed and upon each occasion this meant an all- night ride home.
One night, however — the night summer time was due to begin — I turned and rode out of Glasgow in the opposite direction, which gave me Blanefield and Killearn, and Callander and a sleepy day awheel.
Then we — or rather the Big Fellow — competed at Armadale.
And we other three in honour bound supported him there, which led to many a week- end trip to Armadale and many frantic homeward rides by night.
We all ramble in turn on the tandem. The Big Fellow and I do some hefty rides on the single, to wit.
Portpatrick and back and Creetown- Port William
Stranraer weekend, whilst the other ( Jacky and Andy) do John o’ Groats and back in the week.
Then the Big Fellow and Andy set up a long distance run around Loch Lomond and Gareloch and Greenock which gives them 106 miles, reckoned a great feat then.
Jacky and I thereupon do almost the same run on singles only taking care to collect three miles by a little detour and so the matter stands.
Holiday time comes round at Ayr Races again, and Andy and I depart for Northumbria a la tandem by way of Dumfries and Carlisle and the Roman Wall to return by Morpeth and Berwick and Dunbar to Armadale.
By this time the pupil has learned to use his legs and has a year’s total of 9,000 now.
Weekends begin to lengthen and childhood memories find me venturing south for native Annandale and beyond.
Daring adventure leads me to sleep by the roadside near Annan and timorously to venture across the Sark Bridge and English border to see castled Carlisle ere flying homeward by Nithdale. I like this so well I venture again but find accommodation with an A. A. patrol in Gretna and was foolish enough to venture across the Border with a savage desire to do and see something and not be content with Carlisle.
I went by way of Keswick to Penrith and had by sheer exhaustion perforce to sleep by the roadside in Upper Nithdale that evening and to land back in time for work by minutes.
Carlisle and Cumberland kept calling and Cardewlees was discovered on the Thursby road, a second Creetown home from home and hither we often pedalled, the Big Fellow and I.
This gave us the English Solway from Whitehaven and around by Silloth into Port Carlisle for a smashing weekend of 270 miles. Many an afternoon we enjoyed that 100 miles ride down to Cardewlees and received a welcome there.
But alas, Cardewlees and Creetown of the Cyclists Touring Club and we are all now separated.
The Dumfries road kept haunting me and lodgings were found in Dumfries enabling this shire to be well combed also and as often as not to see us venturing home by Dalveen, Beattock or Galloway.
The New- born Club.
Twas in the quiet garden of Cardewlees the Ayr Road Club was first suggested, perhaps owing to the clubmen who thronged there, and perhaps because Cumnock had one established so long, or perhaps that Kilmarnock was to have one; but many miles were reeled of ere Ayr Road Club was formed.
We went from Dumfries by night to Lockerbie and Langholm and camped in the dark which let us see Mosspaul and Teviot, Hawick and Selkirk and even Peebles; we came one awful night from Newton Stewart to New Galloway, when the road was a horror and collected a dozen punctures ere we were lucky to find a tyre that fitted a tandem.
Later we were back in Cumberland again, doing a “round” the island trip of 250 miles.
A Wayside Sleep Now there is a tandem among us, and I have a new machine of the racing type which even now would be looked down upon though its frame is 24 ins.